


No voice made for singing (in public)

by WintersGreen



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersGreen/pseuds/WintersGreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim can't say how it happened, but the only thing on his mind is, that Bruce really shouldn't sing in front of an audience. And that he wants to push him against his bedroom wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No voice made for singing (in public)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, folks. It's my first work in English. Please don't rip me to pieces if you find grammar mistakes- you are reading at your own risk ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

No Voice for singing (in Public)

 

 

Looking back at the evening, Jim Gordon didn't have the slightest idea, how he had ended up sitting at the bar of an establishment that was far up on the fancy-scale compared to his usual choice of place to get drunk. 

But it had been like that since Barbara had packed bags and kids into her new Mini-Van and drove them out of town, all the way to Louisiana. Nice, warm, sunny Louisiana. Less public uproars, much less insane mastermind- criminals- also much less Gordon. But maybe, to his ex, this was just an other upturn?

Now everything had lost focus. The first days Gordon had tried to burry his grief in work. Whome should he go home to now, anyway? He pulled all-nighters like others brushed their teeth. Without thinking, making it a routine. 

He came to work one day and left the next, only to return after a quick shower and an even quicker meal. When he returned the bags under his eyes had always been more prominent than before, until they looked more like bruises and Gordon was all but forced to stay at home and sleep by the combined power of Major Garcia- who singed his paycheck- Stephens- who still hold Jim's collection of recorded baseball games prisoner- and Montonaya who simply pointed her gun at him when he still refused to rest.  

 

With a new work routine he once again found himself with way too much time on his hands. He had tried to entertain himself, but the ideas he came up with usually only made sense to him after he had discovered the bottoms of a few glasses of Bourbon. 

One night he even concluded that it would be a good idea to stop smoking. After all he would rather crave for a cigarette he could easily buy than pine for something he would not get back ever again. 

As weeks went by he stopped his search for a hobby. The only thing that stayed was the morning run and the self inflicted smoking ban. He had to admit, that the running was significantly easier this way...

And, of course, the drinking. 

 

He knew he was on the best way to a really unhealthy view and use of alcohol, but refused to care. He never drank until he was too smashed to know what he was doing, or walk straight. He also never visited the same bar more than twice in a short time- no need to make the locals suspect their commissioner was an alcoholic. (After all he wasn't, was he?)

 

Therefore he did not wonder why he sat at a bar. He slightly wondered why it was a really nice, well crowded bar with young people having fun instead of his usual brooding, dark- cornor kind of bars. 

When he came in he had considered to change location after a drink, but the drinks were really good and the stools too clean to pass up on, so he had stayed. 

 

What he really could not explain was why Bruce fucking Wayne was up on stage. Or why the man thought it would be a good idea to sing.

 

As a friendly stuff member with high, blond pigtails and many, many freckles had told Gordon, the bar was famous for its quality karaoke. The singer before Wayne had been good, the ones before this one at least better than average and the girl who was to first one Gordon had heard sing had been amazing to the point where he had wondered why she wasn't a professional. Mostlikly because of her 'size-zero plus thirty' pounds. People were dump like that. 

 

And then Bruce had climbed up the few steps to the stage. Gordon hadn't known he was there till that second. Few people had started to whisper, but the stuff had just continued to do what they were doing.

First Gordon had suspected he had already had to much Bourbon. The bar was nice, really, but no the kind of 'nice' that would draw in folks like Wayne. Places that did would not allow pierced, leather clad guys like the one sitting a few tables in front of Gordon. Most likely they wouldn't allow Gordon in, either. 

 

But before he could muse on the strange happenings too much Bruce had grinned down at the crowd and started on the first line.

 

Jim nearly spit out his drink. That was a shame, really, because he suddenly found himself much too sober to listen. How come that no one ever told the man that he should not sing in public? Some of the kids in the bar were barely legal, and Gordon would have bet that Bruce voice was not. Some state was bound to have it banned. 

 

The thing was, Bruce was not bad at singing- sweet Mary, Gordon wished he was- but instead he sung in a way that turned every note into pure sex. Unable to do anything else Gordon allowed his eyes to linger on the tall, dark figure on stage that was currently purring 'tainted love' into the micro. And running his hands trough his hair. While moving his hips in circles. The billionaire playboy was clearly enjoying himself. And everything be damned, but it was _hot_. 

 

To wet his suddenly dry mouth Gordon took a big gulp from his honey colored liquid. When he looked up again the billionaires eyes were focused on him with an intensity that seemed to burn it's way right to Gordon's...neither regions. 

 

Oh, he was very, very much too sober. 

 

As if feeling what he was doing to the other man Bruce loosened his black tie and opened the first buttons of his equally black shirt. As the silky material fell open a nicely toned collar bone showed up, making Jim gulp once again. 

Bruce purred the refrain and the short instrumental part after it was filled with enthusiastic applause. Bruce playfully turned around himself on his heels and grabbed the micro just in the right moment to start singing again. His eyes still locked with Gordon's. Slowly the commissioner got the feeling, that he could be already over his liquid, because there was not a chance, that he would ever think about Bruce doing this performance in his bedroom if he was sober. 

 

Desperately trying to lower his eyes and just. not. Listen. For the rest of the song, Gordon counted his drinks of the night. Seven. Or eight. Or ten- and not being able to tell told him enough. 

 

He knew he should get up, get home and in bed. Try to forget this ever happened, tell himself it was just a trick his own, alcohol drugged, brain had inflicted on him. He would even be happy to brood over his ex-wife, again. What the hell had the stupid Wayne done to him? 

 

But just like always, this kind situations never play along with ones good plans.

 

Meanwhile Bruce had finished his performance. The crowd was clapping and howling, everyone wanted to clap the man who usually would only smile up to them for the glossy covers of the boulevard press on the back. Jim stared at his drink and refused to look up. Stupid idea.

The next thing he knew Bruce slid on the stool next to his, knee pressed close to Jim's thigh and long fingers playing with his own tie. 

 

The grin he sent Gordon's way was both wolfish and boyish and made the poor commissioner feel like a pervert for wanting to snog it off. 

 

"Nice to meet you here, commissioner", Bruce greeted after a few second of catching his breath. 

 

"Ugh, y-yes. My pleasure." _Stupid choice of word_ s, Gordon thought when Bruce let his gaze wander over his form and hum a small 'indeed'. 

 

Feeling his cheeks heathen Gordon fumbled with his still half filled glass. He was bad at small talk, but this was ten times worse. If he didn't knew better, he would say Bruce was flirting with him. And if he let his suspicious cop-mind wander far enough, he even came to suspect that the man had known he would meet him here and done his little performance on purpose. Just that that wouldn't make any sense at all. Why should the man who had a different model glued to his side every night go to such lengths to get the attention of the fourthy-something commissioner. Who was a guy, too. Not that that was a problem, but Gordon just never thought Bruce would swing that way. And if he would he surely would try to chat up some hot underwear model and...fuck, but he just planted his hand on his Jim's and moved it in a way that instantly stopped every coherent thought.

 

And the questions would stay unanswered for the rest of the evening, anyway. Because when Gordon actually asked them half an hour later he only got a hot kiss and a moaned 'must be a cop-thing' for an answer. But Jim didn't care, because that was after Bruce had lead him to his fancy car, with his hot breath at Jim's ear and the whispered promise to give him a ride on the way home.

 

And while Bruce has never seemed to be the next Einstein, Gordon was sure he wasn't as stupid to not get his grammar in the right order. 

 

And for all he cared Bruce could be his new alcohol. 

 


End file.
